


Unfinished puzzles

by Comedia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Banter, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, M/M, Reunion Fic, Smoking, cured reaper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8221664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comedia/pseuds/Comedia
Summary: "Can’t go comparin’ Jack to the rest of us. We’re easy goin’. Always have been, always will. Has anythin' ever been easy with Jack?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to stay away from Overwatch, I really did. Knew the fandom would consume my life if I gave in. And here we go. First ever fic, Reaper76, McHanzo, with McCree & Reyes father/son dynamic on the side, and just... a general angsty fluff-fest of character dynamics I love.
> 
> Named after Kyla La Grange's [Heavy Stone](https://youtu.be/5Htnt2ssAOo).

Gabriel knew the enemy better than most. He knew their strategies, their sentimentality... and he especially knew which ones to keep an eye out for on the battlefield. He saw Jack in Soldier 76 - the strength, the precision, the hurt in his voice when he chased after Reaper, visor down, guns blazing. He knew the quickdraw of McCree and saw the temper of Ana in young Fareeah. Many of them made a beeline for him. Could be kited away from their allies, his betrayal driving them beyond reason. He knew them all, he knew what to expect, and all the same an old friend managed to ambush him.

Angela Ziegler was more than just some nurse who put a bandaid on your boo-boos and gave you a lolly. Gabriel knew that, intimately. Looking back, he should've seen her coming. The sting on his neck had hurt like a motherfucker, and he must've looked ridiculous, spinning on the spot, scanning the rooftops for snipers. And then, there she was. Gliding down towards him on her wings, the sun behind her, rays shimmering through her hair making her look straight up angelic.

Medics had never been particularity scary to him, but Mercy was... something else. He tried to reach within himself. Looked for the pain that so easily could tear him apart. That would let him leave his physical form altogether.

He found nothing.

All those years of being on the edge of the abyss, of nothing but hate and thirst driving him, and now... nothing.

"Gabriel… gnade, hoffentlich geht das gut."

He blacked out before the panic could properly set in.

The following days were a haze of grey. His dreams were louder than the waking world, but they were also gentler. Whenever he seemed on the edge of waking up, of opening his eyes enough to take in his surroundings, unconsciousness would once again claim him - and he welcomed it. Gabriel wasn't even sure he was alive. He'd been dead before, and this was a very familiar sensation.

Eventually the day came when he fully woke up, and she was right there. Just out of reach, her gaze fixed on him. A whole lab full of beeping equipment, and she's all he can focus on.

"¡Chale!” It's been years since he felt such pain. Since he felt so weak. He's almost forgotten how a piercing headache can be enough to knock out a grown man.

"What did..." Gabriel is not even sure she can hear him. His voice is hoarse, spent, and after years behind the Reaper mask he's not used to sounding so raw. So human.

Angela's blue eyes captures his, and all of this is too real. The way she looks at him, the familiarity, the hurt, and the... what could he possibly have done to have her look at him with something resembling kindness?

"I couldn't give up on you, Gabe." Her voice carries steadily. She breaches the subject like it’s simple, like years of animosity doesn't lie between them. How can she speak like it's obvious? Like they somehow owe each other this?

Her words bury deep within him, nesting where the pain, the abyss, used to be. Gabriel feels plain now. Simple. He's slowly coming to the realization that she has somehow reversed what... what happened. As those blue eyes search his features, he can't bring himself to hold her gaze. More than anything, he's painfully aware of how quickly, how easily he put the blame on her. She never gave up, but he did. Instantly. Didn't even try to make sense of it.

"I'm sorry, Angela." She outright flinches at his apology and that... he didn't expect that. The world is still spinning, but he knows this, can still find the threads of friendship between them. It's impossible to make things right, but if he could only make it less painful, that would be a start.

"You're sorry? Gott im Himmel..." She buries her face in her hands, dragging a stiff hand through her hair before looking back at him. "You're sorry? I did this to you, Gabe! I knew it was foolish, knew I couldn't do it and yet... I was so selfish."  
She clears her throat, her gaze wandering around the room. Fixing on a machine next to his bed. When she starts speaking again her voice is low, almost a whisper.

"You should've seen him, Gabe. He'd lost so much blood, and I don't know how many limbs he broke in the blast. His flesh was torn straight off. He shielded you, and then..." Her voice hitches and she comes to an abrupt silence. It's almost a sob, but she's done her best to hide it. "I found him in the rubble, and I don't know how long he'd been trying to resuscitate you. We had to sedate him so he would let you go. I just, knew..."

Even though she's not looking at him, he can see the faint glimmer of tears in her eyes. Gabriel has still not landed, not completely. The moment feels unreal, his body feels unnervingly familiar and shockingly new at the same time. More than anything he's trying to keep himself from breaking down, but he's finding that being some kind of life draining wraith was a lot easier than navigating human emotions. Right now he wants nothing more than to fold in on himself. Curl around the pain in his chest and try to come to terms with... all of this. Jack shielding him despite the animosity between them, Jack never letting go... Gabriel should've known, but he didn't. When he put himself back together the only thing fuelling him was hatred, vengeance. Giving it up - doubting it - just wasn't an option.

She moves a bit closer, now within his reach but still with a respectful distance. "I couldn't let this split us up. I thought I could keep us all together and instead I..."

Gabriel reaches out. Damn it all to hell he reaches for her hand. It's a slow, awkward gesture, his limbs lacking all strength, but she waits for him. Until he can intertwine his fingers with hers.

"Ange? Ange, listen, I can't let you take the blame for this." All he can hope for now is that he can keep it together long enough to say what needs to be said. "I never lost myself. It's not like I came back from death with a wiped memory. Through all of it, I... it was a conscious decision to fight you. To blame you. It was easier than... mierda. I could've forced myself to see your side, to question my rage, but I didn't. You didn't turn me into a monster."

As he falls silent she squeezes his hand. Lightly, barely enough to be felt. Seems to consider her next words very carefully. "But..."

Gabriel shakes his head violently enough for her to stop herself. "No 'but'. I wasn't some kind of, I don't know, werewolf? with an uncontrollable hunger. I was still me. I chose to do... all of it. It was me."

They sit in silence for a long time, and eventually she frees her hand from his grip. "I have... things to attend to."

Angela's almost out of the room when he manages to call out. "Thank you. For not giving up on me."

She turns to him, and there might be just be a hint of a smile gracing her lips. "Welcome back, Gabe." Before she closes the door she adds, almost an afterthought, "Someone's here to talk to you. He's been by every day to check on your progress."

And his heart seems to skip a beat. His breath hitches... and then Jesse Goddamn McCree steps out into the centre of the room. The man's been sitting in here for god knows how long, and Gabriel was none the wiser. Maybe age is getting to him.  
Next second Angela is out the door, and Jesse takes her place next to the bed. Those dark eyes slowly take Gabriel in, cigar at the corner of his mouth, and right now he seems to be trying to eat it rather than smoke it.

"Lookin' like shit, pal."

Gabriel barks out a laugh. He's missed McCrees crudeness. "Wish I could say the same."

They sit in silence for what should feel like an uncomfortable amount of time, but there's something familiar is sharing silences with the cowboy. Eventually Gabriel nods to the corner Jesse had been sitting in up until now.

"Why were...?"

"Why’d you reckon?" Jesse looks at him with something that could be anger, his voice a little louder than his normal drawl. "Couldn't let 'er in here without backup."

Gabriel nods at that, a small twitch that leaves his muscles cramping, his body still in an uproar.

"You taught me good." Jesse doesn't look at him. He stares directly at the floor, a great exhale sending smoke twirling over the hospital bed. "It'll be hard... but nearabout everyone in Overwatch 's a bit fucked these days."

Gabriel doesn't know what to say. Jesse's grown up. While he was away, the young troublemaker has turned into a world-weary man. Crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, his voice deep and raspy from years of smoking. He wears his cowboy outfit with equal parts irony and swagger. It all weighs on Gabriel, crawls into his rib cage and constricts his throat. Makes his heart flutter.

"You say that as if I'd stay."

Jesse simply raises an eyebrow at that. "Of course you'll stay. ‘s about time to work things out."

And it's not like McCree has blind faith in him. His gaze is direct, his expression tired. He looks at Gabriel like just the thought of trying to make this work has him exhausted. Yet he says it like there's no other outcome.

"We'll see." Gabriel mumbles, not quite able to look away. Because in some ways, he shaped the person Jesse is today. His work, his conviction, his, well, attitude. At the same time, part of him says that he has no right taking credit for how McCree turned his life around. Part of him thinks that things could've ended very differently, had Jesse stayed loyal to him after Switzerland. He could’ve pulled this kid right down with him, robbed him of all second chances.

"I'm proud of you, son."

"Ah shit." Jesse is clearly caught off guard. His mouth actually falls open, the remains of his cigar falling to the floor. A moment later he’s put a new one to his lips, and when he lights it only his prosthesis holds perfectly still. Deep breath, and then a cloud of smoke. "Don't get sappy on me now, old man."

They’ve drained what little conversation; confessions; confidence that they can muster. Soon enough, McCree tips his hat and leaves. Not much later, Gabriel drifts back asleep.

The following days are a blur of reunions and meetings he would rather not have. They pass him by, familiar faces, distorted by time and hurt. Some distant and polite, some silent, some hurling accusations and curses. If anything, he deserved worse. Part of him wonders how on earth Angela convinced them to agree to a plan that involved capturing him alive. Who in their right mind would want someone like him this close - in the centre of their headquarters? They’ve already seen the damage he can cause from the inside. The notion that they’d risk it again… no matter how many hours he spends thinking about it, twisting and turning it around, he finds no answers.

Surprisingly enough, Jesse has the answers for him. A while after their first talk, perhaps a week - Gabriel can’t really tell the day nor the time from his isolated room – he knocks on the door in the middle of the night. Bottle of bourbon in his hand, faint smile on his lips.

“Ready for a break, amigo?”

There are no glasses. They simply sit on the edge of his hospital bed, taking turns gulping the amber liquid down. It burns his lips, burns his soul, and reminds him of the constant sting of death. Somehow, it’s comforting.

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask… what was up with the smoke?” McCree waits with asking the question until he’s about to drink, probably hoping for a spit-take. “The whole Reapin’ thing.”

Gabriel ponders the question for a while. There is, after all, many ways of answering it. “My body was decaying and regenerating at an accelerated speed. The smoke wasn’t smoke as much as… me.”

“Gross, man.” Jesse huffs something that might just be a laugh. “Think I read that shit in a comic book somewhere.”

Without really meaning to, Gabriel finds himself smiling. “Now that's nostalgia if I've ever heard it."

“Whatcha mean ‘nostalgia’? I’m subscribed.” Another mouthful of whiskey, and the cowboy outright gargles it before swallowing it down. Gabriel feels his respect for the man rapidly fading. “Read new adventures every month. Love that hero bullcrap.”

Same old, brand new Jesse. It’s almost frightening how easy it is for them to fall back into how it used to be. Except, the power dynamic has shifted. They’re more equal than they’ve ever been, hell, it wouldn’t feel odd to say that Jesse is the wiser of the two.

After finishing up the bourbon, Jesse leaves him, but not for long. It becomes a routine. A routine that is quickly discovered by Angela, and then turned into a complicated smuggling ordeal. McCree bringing bottles of coke that are at least 90% bourbon blended out just enough for it to pass off as soda. And she has to know what they’re doing, but she’s not coming down on them too hard.

Despite the short glimpses of Jesse, he’s pretty much isolated the rest of the time. The novelty of “Gabriel Reyes, friend turned enemy turned terrorist turned undead abomination turned normal” wears off sooner than he expected. Soon enough, the only people coming by is Angela as she keeps a close eye on his rehabilitation, and McCree, for whatever reason. He thought he would appreciate the quiet, but more than anything he’s painfully aware of the one visit that he hasn’t received.

So Gabriel spends his day watching the door. It’s open. He’s not confined to this place. Early on, once he seemed stable enough to walk on his own, he was in fact encouraged to take short walks. With armed security, of course. But fact still remains, he could go outside. Yet he remains in his room, waiting for the world to come to him. Except it doesn’t, and he’s left waiting for weeks on end.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise when Jesse storms into the room one day, hauling him out of his bed and forcing him to put on a tacky leather coat. “We’re goin’ to the roof.”

Gabriel knows better than to argue.

They walk through empty corridors. Dark offices and labs. Chatter and laughter echoes in the stairwells, but it’s about all he sees of the other inhabitants of the base.

There’s not much of a view, but the air is fresh and the stars are bright. He couldn’t ask for more.

"Want one?” Jesse holds up a cigar identical to his own and waggles his eyesbrows suggestively. “Figured you might be done with the breathin’ smoke thing, but it’s impolite not to ask…”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Just hand it to me, pendejo.”

For a while they’re standing in silence. Side by side, looking out into the void. But it’s clear Jesse has an agenda – he didn’t drag Gabriel all the way here just to get him to start smoking – and he’s never been a roundabout guy. Soon enough he speaks up, but even then with his eyes on the horizon.

“I know what yer doin’, y’know.”

Gabriel doesn’t turn to him, not really. “And what is that, exactly.”

"Yer waitin’. Worryin’.” Jesse pauses and takes a deep drag, billowing smoke like a goddamn chimney, before continuing. “No need. He'll come by."

Straight for the heart, as always. They’re not even facing each-other, and Gabriel still feels the need to look away from him to hide his face. He’s not strong enough to hold this in. “I highly doubt it.”

McCree just hums, and Gabriel finds his lack of reply infuriating. “How can you possibly know he’ll come? You were here the second I woke up. The others visited within the first day. It’s been weeks, and…"

“Actually closin’ in on two months, pal.”

For a moment all Gabriel can do is to stare. “Thanks for proving my point for me. Two months, and he hasn’t come to see me once. Not even to kill me.”

"Can’t go comparin’ Jack to the rest of us. We’re easy goin’. Always have been, always will. Has anythin' ever been easy with Jack?"

The question leaves him so at a loss that he guffaws in reply, then instantly puts the cigar back to his lips as if it’d somehow help him save face.

Then, teasing, because it’s all he can do not to make this too real. Too raw. "Can't believe you're giving me advice on this shit."

"Hey. Don't come at me with that shit." Jesse actually punches his shoulder. Not that it should come as a surprise. "I’m an adult. Know a thing or two about this here stuff."

"Oh really?" Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Pray tell how Jesse McCree became experienced in the matters of the heart."

He turns to the cowboy for this, mostly to egg him on. Hoping to get a laugh out of it. But looking at him, even on this dimly lit roof, there’s the unmistakable red of a blush creeping up his cheeks.

"I got myself a lil someone." And while the cowboy is clearly trying to ham it up, he can’t hide the genuine smile playing on his lips. "Been with my darlin' for, what... well, 's at least a couple of years now."

Gabriel doesn’t know what to say. It’s not that he finds it unfathomable for McCree to have found someone, but in this line of work, and… during all the years they spent together, Jesse never really struck him as the settling type.

“That’s… great.” He throws the rest of his cigar to the ground, stomping out the embers. “How’d you find this darlin’, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Met at work.” Jesse’s voice is distant, playful even. The bastard is enjoying this way too much. “You’ve met, many times. One of yer shotguns took a hefty bite outta his left arm a while ago. ‘s healed fine, tho.”

Gabriel stares at him, can’t will himself to say any of the things he wants to say. “Jesus Jesse. How can you… why are you here with me?”

All he gets is a shrug. “War’s hell. We all do fucked up shit.” He’s so blaze about it that Gabriel has a hard time believing him. How could any of this ever be okay? He’s done horrible things, and they’ll follow him, no matter where he hides. Agony is stirring within him, he’s having a hard time catching his breath, any time now he’ll collapse, and… maybe not. Because there’s curiosity too, and he focuses entirely on the mystery at hand.

Someone at Overwatch. Someone he’s fought. Someone he’s injured. None of that helps him narrow it down. Instead he thinks back on the times they’ve fought, the dynamics of his enemies, and suddenly it hits him…

“Hanzo?” Only thing he gets in reply is a shiteating grin. “You shacked up with a Shimada?”

“You could say I tickle his dragon.”

This time it’s Gabriel who punches McCree, and not entirely playfully either. The joke deserves punishment.

Despite the company and the fresh air, he still tires easily. Gabriel says as much, and they’re about to head back down when Jesse stops in the doorway and looks back at him.

"Ain't true he didn't check on you, y’know.” His face carries no trace of a smile, and his voice is gravelly as he speaks. “We'd barely put you in sickbay before he'd set up camp next door."

Gabriel has to hold on to the doorframe not to lose balance. "Are you saying Jack used to be next door?”

"Not used to. He‘s still there, far as I know.” Jesse looks at him with something resembling pity, and Gabriel can’t take it, but he can’t look away either. “On the other side of that left wall of yours, there he is.”

He’d forgotten what it’s like not being able to sleep. Forgotten the sweat. What it’s like twisting and turning for hours on end. Fortunately Angela is by his side within a day, offering him sleeping aids. Without a moment’s hesitation, he accepts. The dreams that follow are less in focus, forgotten the second he wakes up. The pills leave him disoriented, but he prefers it to staring at the roof for days on end. Would rather spend the rest of his life unconscious than ponder the man on the other side of the wall.

As always, he's excellent at fooling himself. Just a few days later, he wakes up to the feeling of being watched. The door is slightly open, echoes of steps and chatter flooding into the room. But what captures his attention is the silhouette peeking through the opening. The blues of his jacket, the white of his hair, his posture… Gabriel would know him anywhere.

The moment is frozen in time, and despite that garish, orange visor Gabriel can swear their eyes meet. Perhaps it’s his imagination. Perhaps it’s that he needs this more than anything – something to cling to, something to give him hope. But perhaps Jack is here because of similar reasons. Drawn in by a promise, by something that had held them tied together and played them against each other for so long.

And just as quickly as Jack has reappeared in his life, he turns and stalks off. Heavy steps in the hallway. A half-hearted whisper that might just be a curse. It’s much less than he’s gotten from any of the other visitors. It’s also much more than he ever thought he’d get.


	2. Chapter 2

Throughout his recovery Gabriel has found that routine helps more than anything. Angela coming by and checking his progress. Jesse showing up to talk at him, all crude comments and advice Gabriel isn’t quite ready for. It’s not much, but it’s a semblance of stability. Of… family. Something he hasn’t had for a very long time. Part of him thinks it’s superficial. That they come from a place of duty. But part of him dares to hope that this will last. That he can rebuild himself from the ashes.

Recently, a new character has kept popping up in his life. A new addition to his daily routine that Gabriel both dreads and longs for.

Every other morning, he’ll be there. Just outside the room. A silhouette peeking through a slightly opened door. Brow furrowed, white hair a bloody mess. Always in combat gear. Posture straight, shoulders squared. Gabriel knows what he’s expecting. Keeps wondering if he’s disappointing Jack by not lashing out. By not initiating something. Anything.

For years, Jack Morrison would be the first person he saw in the morning. The last person he saw before closing his eyes at night. He would let his fingertips travel along the broad shoulders. The dip of his lower back. Gabriel would hold him long into the night, nuzzling his neck and try not to laugh at the tickle of blonde hair. Some mornings he can still sense that scent; copper, salt and hay. Harsh edges and soft creases. He wonders if he’s imagining it, or if Jack still smells the same. If he reeks enough for the scent to travel through the open door and right across the room.

Jack has to know that Gabriel sees him. This isn’t him trying to be subtle. He wants to show himself, perhaps hoping to trigger a response. Being at a deadlock like this, the two of them observing each-other in silence, must be killing him. The Jack of old couldn’t take inaction.

It’s been another week or so of Jack circling him, never actually entering the room, when Jesse shows up. He’s carrying a pile of clothes. Jeans that are tearing at the seams. A red flannel shirt.

“I’m not wearing that”, Gabriel says, attempting his best death glare.

Five minutes later they’re heading for the food court, and he’s rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Not that it will make any difference. No one but McCree could pull off this look with any resemblance of pride.

Speaking of the cowboy, he’s practically beaming at Gabriel’s side. “Yer in for a treat. Solid food. ‘s been a while, right?”

McCree nudges his shoulder as they’re about to enter the food court. His friendliness is probably meant to be reassuring, but Gabriel is left feeling off guard. Not until he was just outside the door did he think this through. Did he consider the familiar faces that will be on the other side.

He doesn’t have the chance to hesitate though. Within seconds Jesse’s kicked the door open, and the only relief is that none of the people on the other side seem particularly surprised by his sudden entrance. As Jesse leads him straight to the coffee machine he feels their eyes on them. Lena sits at a table nearby, huddling together with a young man Gabriel thinks is some kind of… DJ? Angela is at a corner of the room, speaking softly with Fareeha, and he can see Ana reflected in her feature, in her posture, and Gabriel is not ready for this. He feels like he’s about to implode when Jesse shoves a mug full to the brim of black coffee at him.

“I’ve got food covered. Pick a table, won’t yah?” It’s not actually a question.

Gabriel takes the mug and walks slowly along the tables. Careful not to touch anyone. Not to lock eyes with them. It’s not that he’s scared of them, or expecting them to attack him. It’s the pity and the awkward small talk he fears. In fact, a good beating from a former ally wouldn’t be half bad right about now.

Making sure to be seated as far from the others as possible, he finally sets his mug down on a table. He’s got a clear view of not only the both doors leading into the room, but also all windows. Old habits die hard. He takes a sip of his coffee, while taking in his surroundings. Allowing himself to study the others openly, and not hiding his interest.

Jesse still stands by the coffee maker, now engaged in conversation with someone Gabriel recognizes well. More than once has he seen the Japanese man towering on a rooftop above him, arrow at his fingertips, tattoo glowing. Knowing the power he carries within, Hanzo Shimada seems surprisingly short next to McCree. But he carries himself with grace and determination, his solemn expression in complete contrast to Jesse’s drawl and big gestures. Whatever brought those two together it’s gotta be one hell of a story.

For a while now, Gabriel has felt people watching him. Quick glances, long unabashed staring. But through it all, there’s been a different sensation, almost like burning. He knows who it is, and he’s been doing his damned hardest to ignore it.

Gabriel turns around, and there he is. Huddled in a corner, book in hand, cup of coffee on the floor next to his chair. All of it forgotten, as his full attention is on Gabriel. Visor glowing, posture tense. Before turning back to his coffee, Gabriel raises an eyebrow at him. Jack twitches slightly where he sits, leaning forward, only so slightly, before determinedly sitting back in his chair. It’s the most interaction they’ve had since the last time they tried to kill each-other.

“Ready for this? Got eggs, bacon, some green shit I ain’t got no clue about, but ‘s supposedly healthy…” McCree trails off, and then unceremoniously slams the plate down in front of Gabriel. “It’ll do yah good.”

They eat in silence until McCree drops his fork on the floor. Gabriel looks at him, and notices a slight blush colouring his cheeks. He follows Jesse’s glance, and it leads him straight to Hanzo. The bowman’s lips are curved into what could be a smile, and he’s raising an eyebrow in question.

Gabriel turns around in time to catch McCree not only winking in reply, but all the while pointing in Hanzo’s general direction with finger guns. The ridiculous display of affection isn’t weird on its own. What really makes Gabriel’s jaw drop is the way Hanzo looks back at Jesse with something resembling fondness, hell – even desire.

If anything their puppy love is a welcome distraction from Jack’s glowering visor.

The rest of the breakfast passes in silence. Several of the others leave the food court as they finish up their breakfast. Not Jack. Gabriel feels that gaze on him throughout the meal, and when they’re almost out the door he actually turns around again. Stares back, for only a moment. There’s no reaction, and before he knows it McCree has herded him back towards sickbay.

“Feelin’ better?”

Gabriel simply shrugs in reply.

“Good enough.” McCree lights up a cigar as they’re slowly walking along the corridors. “We’re gonna do this every mornin’. And I ain’t takin’ no for an answer.”

At this point, Gabriel knows better than to argue with the cowboy.

For the coming week they visit the food court every morning. McCree always appearing out of the blue with dreadful clothes and a smile on his lips. Jack always in the corner of the room before they enter, and staying until after they’ve gone. None of the others really try to strike up conversation, but he gets the occasional “good morning”, and replies in kind. It’s about as much interaction he can handle at this moment, anyway.

After seeing Jesse and Hanzo stealing glances throughout god knows how many mornings, Gabriel realizes it’s only a matter of time before Jesse introduces his sweetheart properly. When the day comes he thinks he’s prepared. Turns out that a man capable of capturing Jesse McCree’s heart is as unpredictable as he’s handsome, and within minutes Gabriel’s at a loss for words.

They’ve just had a much too frank about the “Reaper shooting Hanzo at point blank in the arm” incident when the conversation drifts into dangerous topics. Things Gabriel has yet to breach with both Angela and McCree.

“Anyone who wishes it can find atonement.” Hanzo speaks slowly, thoughtfully. It doesn’t seem to be because of the language barrier, but rather because how he weighs every word carefully. “I killed my brother.”

Gabriel stares at him. He’s known of the Shimada “family feud”. Never expected the older brother to be so blunt about it though. “I’m… sorry?”

Hanzo shrugs in reply, and glances at McCree before speaking up again. “He got better.”

Jesse audibly snorts at their exchange, crooked smile never quite leaving his lips. “If things can be repaired, they’re worth repairin’. Know what I’m sayin’?”

And Gabriel knows. He doesn’t have a waking moment when he _doesn’t know_. But they’re at a deadlock. Jack doesn’t make the first move, and Gabriel simply can’t. He can’t force his way back into Jack’s life. Needs the other man to make the decision.

Hanzo has just left the room when Jesse flops down on the bed next to Gabriel. He leans back on his elbows and stares at the ceiling. Let’s out a deep sigh that sends smoke twirling across the room.

“He’s a keeper, wouldn’t yah say?”

Gabriel actually smiles at that. “No idea how you got your hands on him. But yeah. He’s a keeper.”

“Y’know, I always…” Jesse falls silent for a moment. Thoughtful, even. “This’ll be cheesy, just preparin’ yah.”

A long drag of his cigar before he picks up where he left off. “Didn’t know much ‘bout this here love stuff when I was young. Had some bad experiences, n’ I mean _bad_. Figured I’d go for the lone wolf thing.”

He glances at Gabriel, as if to ensure that he still has his attention.

“Changed when I got to know yah. Our time workin’ together taught me a lot. ‘bout family, ‘bout loyalty…” he pauses. For the first time in weeks, Jesse seems to have a hard time finding the words. “’n I always looked to you and Morrison to, y’know, _get it_. I saw what you had, and I kept thinkin’, _I want that_.”

Gabriel’s out of breath. Can’t bring himself to look at McCree. His blood is boiling, his insides twisting. Part of him wants to crawl into bed and never emerge again. Part of him thinks of how he’d beat recruits into shape back in the day. His hands curl into fists, his breaths getting heavy. The things he’d do to just get down and gritty once again.

Before he’s had time to make sense of the chaos erupting within him, McCree has an arm wrapped around his shoulders. “Hey, I’m not sayin’ this to hurt yah.” A moment of silence, and next time he speaks it’s gentle and slow. “Ain't got nothing to lose, Gabe. Isn’t it time one of y’all took the first step?”  
  
The conversation leaves Gabriel determined. He won’t leave Jack in that corner, glowering forever as civilisations are built and fall around them. Weeks, hell, maybe months of waiting. It’s about time one of them reaches out.

Unfortunately, Jack beats him to it. Next morning the door is slightly open as always, but there’s no silhouette on the other side of it. Instead Jack is sitting in the corner of Gabriel’s room. Still with his visor on. Still with a stick-up-his-ass posture. And yet the change is enough to leave Gabriel rattled. While internally screaming at himself to keep his cool and pretend to sleep, his body jerks up, and he finds himself sitting up – the duvet falling off his chest and leaving it bare.

No reaction from Jack. Same silent stare-fest. After all this time, Gabriel is starting to feel bitterness building in his chest. Boy scout used to be a lot better at using his big boy words. And his mouth in general. How the hell could they even go from inseparable-whole-life-planned-out-on-the-verge-of-marriage to… whatever the fuck this is?

He clears his throat. Decides to go for a hail mary. Like Jesse said, he ain’t got much to lose at this point.

“Are we ever going to… talk?” It’s awkward. Stilted as hell. Still better than nothing.

“Fuck, don’t.” Jack’s reply is immediate. His body slumping a bit where he’s sitting. He brings up a hand to his visor, as if he wants to pinch the bridge of his nose and only realizes too late that he can’t.

“Don’t what?” Gabriel pushes the subject. Even distorted by the mask, even hitched and pained, it’s still Jack’s voice. Jack’s voice saying things that aren’t outright death threats or orders. It’s a nice change.

“I can’t…” Jack’s sigh is turned into garbled white noise by the mask. “It’s been too… with your voice. I can’t do this…”

Without another word, he’s out the room. There’s some finality to it – something Gabriel can kind of even appreciate. Better to know that he has no chance in hell repairing this, than being in some fucking limbo and convincing himself that it’s worth trying.

But the next morning he wakes to the scent of salt. Copper. Hay. Jack’s back in his room. Same corner. Same chair. Complete silence as Gabriel turns in his bed to look at him properly. They must stare at each other for half an hour before Jack gets up to leave.

In a way, the silence is to prefer. Like this, they can at least pretend like there’s something resembling a truce between them.

Jack’s been doing the “watching Gabriel wake up” routine for a couple of days when Jesse picks up on it. He doesn’t comment on the glowering soldier at the corner of the room, and goes about dragging Gabriel to breakfast as he normally does. But the very same night he visits Gabriel again, this time bringing a bottle of cheap-ass bourbon. He places it under the bed and gives Gabriel a _look_.

“Y’know what to do.”

Gabriel really doesn’t know, but he nods all the same.

For a few more days Jack shows up in the morning. Then he switches it up and comes by in the evening. Door slowly opening, him striding into the room as if he lives there. Sitting down in the chair, not quite acknowledging Gabriel, yet looking in his general direction.

And Gabriel _knows_.

He picks up the bottle of bourbon and gets out of his bed. Muscles sore, his joints stiff. The rehabilitation is going well, but he hasn’t done a great job of taking care of himself. If he’d put his mind to it, he probably would’ve been combat ready by now.

Not wanting to scare Jack away, he keeps his distance. Sitting down on the floor, just out of reach, he puts the bottle to his lips and takes a swig, before putting it down on the floor between them.

When Jack reaches for his mask, Gabriel’s heart skips a beat. He expects to finally see him again, to take in those features he hasn’t seen in so long. Instead Jack simply unhooks the piece covering his mouth, leaving the visor on. Still, it’s better than nothing, and Gabriel would be lying if he said that seeing Jack’s lips around the tip of the bottle didn’t bring back memories.

Farm boy never could handle his liquor. Nor did he have any sense of how much to drink at a time. He’s five mouthfuls into the bottle before he puts it back down on the floor – the no man’s land between them.

“You’ve been staring.” Gabriel says it gently. Tries to keep any accusation from his voice.

“No shit.” His heart flutters at the sound of Jack’s voice – his real voice. Not made raw and desperate by battle, not distorted to shit by some new-fangled gadgets. His real voice, raspy and aged but still so incredibly Jack.

“I would stare too.” He knows he’s baiting, but at this point he just wants any kind of reaction, be it verbal of physical. Jack lashing out is better than Jack thinking he can keep up appearances.

“You have been.”

“No shit, have you seen yourself? That visor doesn’t exactly make it easy to see who or what you’re obsessing over.” Gabriel takes a swig from the bottle, welcoming the burn of the alcohol.

“Obsessing? Don’t flatter yourself.”

He might be going crazy, but there’s almost an edge of amusement to Jack’s voice. Or perhaps it’s anger. Kinda hard to tell these things sometimes.

For a moment all that can be heard is the AC. Their breaths. Then the sound of Jack gulping down the liquor like its water, his sloppiness echoing around them.

“What would you call this shit then?” Gabriel gestures between the two of them. “Sorry to tell you, _mi querido,_ but whatever this is it sure as hell ain’t normal.”

Jack flinches at the endearment, and the turn of his head is enough indication that he’s staring at the door.

Before he has the chance to try to leave, Gabriel moves closer. Not much, just enough to be within his reach. He looks up at Jack with hooded eyes, knowing full well that this is too much too soon.

“Let me see you.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “The visor. I still haven’t seen, you know, you. Half the time I don’t even know if we’re looking at each-other or if you’re checking out some piece of ass behind me.”

His comments aren’t dignified with a reply. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Jack raises his hands. Unsteadily he detaches the visor, almost dropping it in the process. It’s hard to tell if it’s because of anger or the liquor.

Jack’s eyes are unfocused, but just as Gabriel remembered. The most unbelievable blues – he still remembers the farm boy meeting his gaze all those years ago. Nothing but stubbornness and naivety. It was hard even spending time with Jack and not feeling like he was corrupting him. Looking back, he most certainly did.

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to put words to everything that’s building inside of him. Before he makes sense of any of it, Jack interrupts his thoughts.

“Can’t see for shit.” He being very matter-of-fact about it, and the final puzzle piece snaps into place. Gabriel looks at the visor where it’s lying on the floor, unused, before he looks back at Jack.

With slow movements he gets up from the floor. Stands in front of Jack and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. He expects yelling. Fingers closing around his windpipe. What he doesn’t expect is heavy breaths; Jack swallowing audibly. It doesn’t take long to help him to the floor, so they can sit opposite each-other.

“Better?”

“Not really, unless you’re doing that smoke bullcrap.” There’s no bite to his words. A last attempt at diffusing the situation, if nothing else. Gabriel refuses to be baited. Instead he takes Jack’s hands in his, and gently places them on each side of his face. Tries to tell himself that it’s for Jack’s benefit – another way for him to get reacquainted with Gabriel’s features – but he can’t ignore the shivers that run down his spine the second Jack’s fingertips start to roam.

For a soldier, Jack’s always been gentle. His fingers are roughened from endless work and battles, much like back in the day. Tenderly he traces Gabriel’s jawline, wandering across his cheeks and lightly stroking across his brow. Pausing at every wrinkle, at every new scar.

His breaths ghost across Gabriels face and neck. Warm, inviting. On the edge of something old. Something new. Something dangerous Gabriel hasn’t explored for lord knows how long.

“Shit Gabe.” Jack’s voice is broken, and he leans in as he speaks. His head on Gabriel’s shoulder, his words a purr against his ear. Subdued, intimate. “I didn’t want to accept it… but always knew it was you. I fucking knew.”

What they used to have, what they were, that shit doesn’t get a restart. The clock didn’t stop just because they spent a dozen or so years trying to kill each-other. So when Gabriel’s hands find Jack’s cheeks, angles him just so, they fall into familiarity only the way old soldiers can. For years he's been breathing smoke. Hurting so bad he could tear himself apart at will. Now he feels fire on his lips, breathing life into something he thought long dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I write short things on [tumblr](http://comediakaidanovsky.tumblr.com/) as well (but mostly I just cry about fictional characters).


End file.
